


If You Want To

by mahbecks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Jokes, Explicit Language, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, Humor, Mistletoe, Romance, holiday tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: Felix hates parties.He hates his company’s annual Christmas party more than most.So when Byleth suggests they go together to help each other out against that dreaded party nemesis (mingling), Felix agrees. It’s only practical, right?...he should probably figure out what, exactly, he feels for Byleth first.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66
Collections: Felileth Secret Santa 2020





	If You Want To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrickySleeves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickySleeves/gifts).



> Written for Tricky as part of the Felileth server Secret Santa! Happy Holidays, Tricky, I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> If you haven’t read Tricky’s fics, I HIGHLY recommend you do because every single one of them is fucking fantastic 
> 
> Also huge shoutout (again) to the Felileth server for just in general being awesome and to Elasmosaurus for organizing this!

Felix Hugo Fraldarius (the second, but he’d be damned if he included that when he introduced himself to people - the alliteration was bad enough) hated his job. 

No.

Scratch that. 

He didn’t _hate_ his job. 

He hated _parts_ of his job. 

Not the important parts, the things he’d actually been hired to do. No, that much he liked, even if he would only admit it begrudgingly. Spreadsheets crapping out on him, needless but required documentation, numbers that didn’t quite align with what he’d projected - those were sometimes annoying, but they were minor grievances that came with the territory of being an analyst at a publicly traded company. He could live with them. 

What he truly disliked, the things that always tempted him to seek out a more remote position, were the little annoying things that inevitably came with any nine-to-five office job. 

Like how the water cooler was in the breakroom instead of out on the floor, forcing him to navigate a minefield of small talk in order to get a drink. Or how the business’s CEO - a hulking mass he’d been surprised to discover had once been his childhood best friend - insisted on using the first floor bathroom despite having his own private toilet in the executive suite. How said CEO insisted on _talking_ while he was attempting to do his business, for fuck’s sake.

As if Felix wanted to talk to anyone when he had his pants around his ankles.

But the worst part, the thing that really drove him up the wall-

“Hey Felix! Are you taking anyone to the holiday party this year?”

-were the annual holiday parties.

He turned, not at all surprised to see Annette - marketing genius, sales up forty-three percent in the last four quarters alone - standing behind him, waiting for her turn at the coffee pot. He stepped out of the way, his grip on his own mug tightening.

“Probably not,” he replied.

 _Definitely_ not. 

He had to go, unfortunately - it was one of those stupid “socially expected things” Sylvain had told him he had to keep on top of if he wanted to progress his career. It was a load of bullshit; his advancement should be based on merit, on the results his efforts brought the company - not his networking skills. The idea that anyone would move up based solely on how good they were at schmoozing made him want to vomit.

He’d told Sylvain this. Multiple times. Just before last year’s party, in fact. But after politely listening to his spiel, nodding along in sympathy, Sylvain had just patted him on the back and told him that wasn’t how things worked in the corporate world.

The worst part was that he was right.

That being said, just because _Felix_ had to spend a perfectly good Friday night kissing ass and listening to the same stupid stories he’d heard a million times before over bland canapes and awful, _festive_ cocktails, didn’t mean he was going to inflict that on a stranger. 

He wasn’t _that_ cruel.

Besides.

Going to a holiday party with someone meant you had to, well - ask someone to go with you. 

Like a date. 

And Felix wasn’t the dating type.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Annette said, turning back towards him as she shoveled an obscene amount of sugar and cream into her coffee. “But I’m sure it’ll be plenty of fun on your own!”

Felix made a noncommittal noise. 

“I actually wasn’t planning on going with anyone, either,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “But then Ashe asked me if I wanted to go with him. We’re going to get dinner first, too, so I think that counts as a real date! Can you believe it?”

Felix could, in fact, believe it. 

Ashe - accounting intern turned employee, good with numbers, bad with the fax machine - had been mooning over Annette for months now; it was completely obvious, the way he’d turn bright red whenever she complimented him, how he’d give a dramatic sigh every time someone mentioned her in conversation.

Felix had had to throw a pencil at him in a meeting once to get him back on track after she’d thrown them a wave through the conference room’s glass wall. 

“We had to check with Seteth that it was all, you know, cool and everything.”

They stepped aside as someone else stepped up to the coffee pot, a large green mug in their hands - Byleth Eisner, Felix noticed, against his will. It was hard not to, with that bright green hair, lace-front sweater, a mouth that could make a sailor weep-

He studiously looked back towards Annette, pushing those thoughts away.

“Was it?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, yeah, totally fine! We’re in different departments, so things should be A-ok!” 

“Mmm.”

“I was afraid Seteth was going to give us that _look_ he gives people, you know? The one right before he launches into a lecture?” Annette shuddered. “But he was actually really nice about it!”

Of course he was. He’d been dealing with Ashe and Annette.

You couldn’t be mean to those two. You just couldn’t.

It’d be like kicking a puppy. Two puppies, at the same time.

“Ah, but look at me, I’m babbling.” She let out a little laugh, taking a sip of her coffee. “Sorry.”

Felix shrugged. “Don’t be,” he replied. 

“I’ll let you get back to work. I’m sure you’ve got tons of stuff to get done before the holidays!”

Not really. Business slowed down this time of year, almost to a crawl, as clients waited until the start of the next quarter to tackle their new action plans. But he would like to get out of the breakroom, away from the very distracting vision in black off to the side who may or may not have been listening in on this conversation-

“A bit.”

“I’ll see you Friday night then! Don’t work too hard!”

He waited for Annette to leave before following her towards the exit - he gave it a good five seconds. He didn’t want to look like he was bolting from the room, after all; he wasn’t a fucking deer, startled at the first sign of headlights. 

But he did want to get out of here. Being alone in a room with Byleth was like being underwater; he always felt like he couldn’t breathe, like there wasn’t enough oxygen for the both of them, and he had never been able to tell if he enjoyed that burn or hated it.

He took long strides towards the door, the coffee in his mug dangerously close to spilling onto his hands-

“Felix.”

But he wasn’t fast enough.

He froze, counting to three in his head before turning around, trying - and failing - to keep the annoyance from his face. 

“What?” he barked.

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes - but he couldn’t look down either, because then he’d see the creamy expanse of throat sitting beneath that jet black lace, and he’d notice how the light hit said lace and drew shadowy patterns on her skin, and then he’d think about how he wanted to trace them with his tongue, and-

_Shit._

He settled for staring at her stupid green mug, the phrase “I like my coffee how I like my metal” stamped on one side.

“You’re not taking anyone to the party?”

He scoffed. “Does that surprise you?”

She shrugged. “No.”

“Then why bring it up?”

Why bother? 

Why did she care?

How _did_ she like her coffee/metal?

“I’m not taking anyone either,” she announced. 

That was a bit of a surprise. Normally, Byleth brought one of her friends along - Felix suspected it was so she didn’t have to talk to anyone else. She was almost as aloof as he was at these sort of events, tucking herself away in a corner for most of the night, socializing for a few minutes each hour just so people would remember she’d actually been there.

Last year, it had been some guy named Claude. His slicked-back hair and easy grin (and the way he’d casually thrown an arm over Byleth’s shoulders, though Felix still wasn’t quite sure what to make of that) had made Felix want to punch him. 

“What about _him_?” Felix found himself unable to resist asking. “That guy from last year.”

“Claude? He has to work Friday.” 

Too bad.

“I was actually wondering-”

Byleth stopped here, and so Felix chanced a glance at her face, wondering why she’d paused. Her lips were pursed, and she was staring at him intently - almost like she was appraising him, staring down a leap before a great plunge.

He shifted from one foot to the other, a strange sort of anticipation thrumming in his veins. Despite himself, he was curious about what she was going to say.

“Maybe we should go together.”

Her words came out in a rush, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up with his ears. At first, he thought he’d misheard her, because there wasn’t any way she was asking _him_ to go to a holiday party with _her._ Obvious sexual chemistry aside, their rivalry was a bit of a standing joke among the rest of the company. They weren’t friendly, they weren’t _pals -_ so why would she be asking him to be her date for the night?

Then his mind went completely blank, every other thought rushing out like water from a sieve, because _Byleth Eisner was asking him out_. He felt his mouth fall open, but no words came out. He blinked once, and then twice, and still stood there, dumbfounded, like a complete fucking idiot, until-

“If you want to,” she said quickly, her expression betraying nothing of what she truly felt at his silence. “But if you’d rather not-”

“Why?”

Finally, he’d managed to say something; it came out sort of strangled, more of a noise than a word, but she seemed to understand well enough.

“If we go alone, we have to mingle,” she replied. “But if we go _together_ , people will assume we’re dating and leave us alone.”

Oh. 

It was a ruse. Not a date after all, then. His sense of relief was eclipsed only by his sense of disappointment. 

“People will stare.”

“...probably.”

“And they’ll talk about us.”

“...yes. Look, maybe it’s not such a good idea after all. I just thought maybe we could help each other out here.” She shook her head, a couple pieces of hair sliding out of the tie she’d used to hold it back. “But if you _don’t_ want to, no big deal-”

“Yes.”

_Fuck._

Byleth paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”

_Fuck._

He could’ve backed down; he could’ve given her some excuse, told her that no, under precisely zero circumstances did he want to go to this party with _her,_ and that he’d just had a brief slip of the tongue, some moment of idiocy caused by how absolutely _staggered_ he was that she’d made this suggestion in the first place. 

But that wasn’t his way. 

It never had been. 

So he clenched his jaw, looked her in the eyes, and nodded. 

“Yes. Let’s go to the party. Together.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Like a standoff in an old movie, they just stood there, ten feet apart, staring at the other, eyes narrowed, waiting. Then-

“Oh. Okay.” Byleth blinked. “Should I pick you up?”

He was closer to Dimitri’s stupidly large and expensive house than she was. It made more sense that she’d pick him up on her drive into town than he go out of his way to pick her up before veering back towards downtown. He wondered what sort of car she drove - something practical? Or maybe something sleek and black, with a motor that could go from zero to one hundred in six-point-two seconds? She seemed the type who’d have a need for speed.

Remembering she was still waiting on an answer, he nodded. “Sure.”

“Do you-” She hesitated, looking away from him for a moment. “Should we get something to eat first?”

Dinner.

Felix hadn’t thought about dinner. For most of these events, he’d grab something quick on his way home from work. He’d scarf it down before he changed into more formal attire and then head out - so he didn’t have to subsist on bad hors d'oeuvres and charcuterie that had been sitting at room temperature for far too long. 

But if they were going together, maybe they should also eat together? It would take up more time, too, and then they’d only have to spend three hours at the party instead of four. 

Maybe food was a good idea.

“Steak.”

“...steak.”

“I like steak.”

She blinked. “Congratulations.”

“No, I mean-” He huffed, scowling. “For dinner. Do you want to go to a steakhouse?”

“Oh. Well, as it happens, I like steak too. So, yes. Sure.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” She took a sip of her coffee, and Felix fought with himself not to watch the way her throat worked as she swallowed. “You pick the place. Something casual, nothing fancy.”

“How do you like your metal?”

Shit.

He hadn’t meant to ask that aloud. Byleth frowned, taken aback, and then looked down at the mug in her hands. She answered him anyway.

“Black.”

The same way Felix liked it. 

Still giving him a curious look, she pressed on with their planning. “So I’ll pick you up at… six? Dinner at six-thirty? Dimitri’s by eight?”

“I’m leaving at eleven.”

She gave him the tiniest of smiles, one corner of her mouth curling up into a smirk. “Ten-thirty if they break out the good whiskey.” 

She looked down, then, checking her watch. “I have to go now,” she announced. “I have a meeting with Dimitri, and I still need to grab my laptop. I’ll see you Friday?”

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” he reminded her dryly. “And probably the day after that.”

“You know what I mean,” she retorted. She pushed past him, pressing something into his palms, the vaguely spicy scent of her perfume wafting back to him in her wake. “Bye, Felix.”

He waited until she had left, the door swinging shut behind her, before looking down at what she’d given him - a business card, plain and unadorned. He was fairly certain he had several other copies laying around in the void of his second desk drawer. He almost threw it away on his way back to his desk.

Then he realized it listed her cell phone number. And an email address.

He quietly slipped it into his pocket and got to work.

* * *

“Are we really doing this?”

Two nights to go. 

He’d waited as long as he could stand it before he’d finally caved and called her. A different person might’ve waited until after the sun had risen, but Felix had never been to one to hesitate. 

He looked over at his bedside table, rolling his eyes when he saw the time. 

Two in the fucking morning. 

But Byleth had picked up on the third ring, her voice not at all bleary when she snapped, “Don’t back out on me now, Fraldarius. I already bought a dress.”

He liked to think he recovered quickly. “You’d have worn it anyways,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but this one _matches._ I put in effort here.”

“...matches,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Matches what?”

“Matches _you_.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean, it matches me?”

She sighed. “Felix. I’ve known you for five years now. In all that time, I’ve seen you wear a grand total of three colors, only one of which is on the actual color wheel. So I picked out a dress that would complement whatever blend of blue, black, and gray you choose to wear Friday.”

“What if I’d planned on wearing green?”

“I’d have questions.”

“Questions.”

“Several of them, most of which involve the premise of Sylvain or Ingrid giving you dubious fashion advice.”

Sylvain, who’d yet to meet a patterned shirt he disliked, regardless of how atrocious said pattern was, Felix could understand. But Ingrid - legal department, and leader of the unofficial corporate events action committee (an easy way for her to taste test all potential caterers) - was generally well put-together when it came to clothes. She chose plain, no-nonsense attire that suited whatever job she was currently doing, whether that was kickboxing or filing briefs.

“Ingrid’s fashion advice is fine.”

“She’s helped you before?”

He tried not to sound too defensive. “Yes.”

“That explains the Chucks. She’s obsessed. I’ve never seen anyone with so many different pairs of Converses.”

“What’s wrong with Chucks?”

“They sacrifice comfort for a disarmingly cheap aesthetic.”

“Like the Doc Martens you wear on a daily basis are comfortable,” he retorted.

“No, but there’s nothing _cheap_ about Doc Martens.” She paused, and Felix heard something shift in the background - she’d set something down, perhaps, or switched positions. “And in answer to your question: yes. We’re doing this.”

“...Ah.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“No.”

Yes.

Maybe.

…Felix didn’t know.

The truth was, he didn’t want to go to the damn thing, period - but having someone with him, having a _date,_ was better than not having one at all. Even if it wasn’t real. It had taken him a little while, but he’d finally come to terms with the idea of having her on his arm all night. It wasn’t his ideal Friday, but having a partner in crime at least ensured it wouldn’t be as awful as last year, when he’d been forced to play board games because they had an odd number of people. 

People would leave them alone, assuming they _wanted_ to be alone. And while Byleth wasn’t much of a talker, he’d always found her more… tolerable than the rest of her coworkers. They’d find some way to entertain themselves. 

Throw popcorn at people. 

Rearrange the ornaments on Dimitri’s Christmas tree when he wasn’t looking. Better yet, the nametags on the gifts he’d selected for all of them.

Hell, this year, it might even be _fun._

Assuming they could pull this off, of course. The jury was still out on that one. Over the past few days, he’d swung wildly between thinking no one would believe them only to later convince himself that everyone would accept it as an obvious truth. 

Currently, he was back to being skeptical.

“Do you think it will work?”

Again, she took a minute to answer; in his mind’s eye, Felix pictured her tilting her head, one hand coming up to her chin as she worked through a problem. It was an idiosyncrasy of hers. He wondered if she realized that she did it.

“Why wouldn’t it work?”

“...people think we hate each other.”

“I don’t hate you, Felix.”

“...you once threw a stapler at me.”

“No, I threw a stapler at the wasp circling your head. You’re allergic, aren’t you?”

He was. He didn’t think he’d ever mentioned that to Byleth though.

“I didn’t want it to sting you.”

He huffed out a breath. “So your solution was to throw a sharp metal object at my head?”

“Did I hit you?”

“No.”

“Did I hit the wasp?”

“...yes.”

“Then it worked.”

He made a frustrated noise, one hand grabbing hold of his hair and pulling. “That’s not - that’s beside the point,” he snapped. 

“Then what is the point, Felix?”

“People think we _despise_ each other, Byleth, and neither of us have given them any reason to think otherwise.”

Byleth hummed, falling silent. 

“I think,” she said finally, voice slow and thoughtful, “it’s more complicated than that.”

Fine. Felix would bite. 

It wasn’t so simple as that - whatever it was that lay between them, hate was too strong a word and tolerance wasn’t quite strong enough. Neither quite fit; nor did fifty other words he’d tossed around over the last few years. It was maddening, trying to name the nebulous, swirling… thing he felt for Byleth.

Towards her.

About her.

He’d stuck with rivalry - it seemed truer than the rest, though still woefully inadequate. 

It comforted him a little to know that she also pegged this as complicated.

“How so?” he asked. 

“If people really thought we hated each other, they’d never let us work on projects together,” she pointed out. “But we’re asked to collaborate all the time. That’s not by accident; people see how well we work together, how we get things done.”

True enough. They _did_ often get put on the same team, and he’d spent many long days trapped in conference rooms with Byleth as they worked through a particularly complex analysis that needed to be done yesterday. But-

“We can’t be in the same room for more than an hour without fighting.”

“It’s not fighting, it’s - aggressive brainstorming.”

He scoffed.

“And that’s still longer than you can be in a room with anyone else.”

Fair.

“You’re just not a people person. Neither am I. But we’re not bad together, Felix. I think this will work.”

She said it so casually, like it was nothing; and he knew she wasn’t speaking of the two of them _together,_ but rather the two of them, plural, two people, sharing the same space at the same time. It didn’t mean anything, to her or to him. His pulse still jumped when he heard the words tumble off her tongue. 

“You don’t think so?” she asked, interpreting his silence for disagreement.

“I… no. Yes. I mean - fine, it’ll work.”

“...that wasn’t very convincing.”

“I’ll just - practice.”

“ _Practice?_ ” Byleth snorted. “How are you going to practice for this, Felix?”

Fuck if he knew.

To his surprise, she laughed. He’d never heard her laugh before. 

He… liked how it sounded.

“Ah, but you’d practice for everything if you could, wouldn’t you?” She sighed. “And speaking of practice, I’m going to bed. I have to oversee the intern’s training tomorrow if they’re going to pull the data we need the way we need it pulled.”

“Remind them to turn off the multiplier.”

“And apply the rate resets,” she said. “Yeah, got it.”

“They should already know that.”

“They’ve only been here a week.”

“So?”

Again, she laughed, and Felix sank a little lower in his bed, the hand in his hair finally relaxing.

“Good night, Felix.”

She’d already hung up by the time he worked up a response.

“...night.”

* * *

Byleth hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said she’d bought a dress to match him.

Almost the exact same color as the shirt he’d chosen, the navy blue fabric hugged her body like a sheath, patches of dark lace framing her hips and shoulders, and a triangular cut-out just below the high neckline left the tops of her breasts exposed. With nothing to hide them, Felix couldn’t help but stare - longer than was probably polite. He quickly looked away once he realized what he was doing, clearing his throat, cheeks flaming, but not before he’d seen the knowing smirk on Byleth’s face. 

“You look… nice.”

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself.” She waited until he’d gotten into her car before adding, “I see you didn’t go for green.”

“I’m not a fucking elf,” he snapped.

“He’s an _angry_ elf,” she said to herself.

Felix glared.

“And you changed your hair. I didn’t realize it was so long.”

He absently pulled at one of the strands that had fallen out of the bun to hang loose around his jawline. “I need to cut it.”

“I kind of like it.”

His glare softened, and Byleth pulled out into traffic, merging seamlessly with the rest of the cars. 

“So. We need to work on our story.”

“What?”

She shot him a sidelong look. “Our story,” she repeated. “What we tell people - about how we started dating, how long we’ve been together.”

“We didn’t date,” he said immediately.

“Agreed,” she said. “Neither of us like dating. And obviously, we met at work.” She paused, turning onto a secondary road. “How realistic do you think we should be?” 

As realistic as possible; too many lies, and they’d get caught. Telling as much of the truth as they could would work out better in the long run. He said as much, and Byleth nodded.

“I think… we just kind of hit it off, then,” she said slowly, looking at him again as she pulled up to a stoplight. A bracelet on her arm glittered in the reddish-yellow light, as did the shimmery make-up highlighting her cheekbones. 

She was practically glowing. 

“Shared interests, long hours working together-”

“Shared interests?”

She blinked. “Well, yeah.”

He frowned. “What do we have in common?”

“We both like steak. We both go to the gym on our lunch breaks. We have the _exact_ same job-”

“That’s nothing-”

“We lost our fathers before we should have, we prefer to work for something rather than have it handed to us, and while other people call us ‘competitive’ we prefer to think of it as _driven-_ ”

“Alright.”

“Blue is our favorite color, cocktails with vodka are disgusting, and the water cooler should really be out on the floor instead of tucked back into the corner of the breakroom-”

“Alright!” He snapped his mouth shut, clamping down on whatever else he’d been about to say. A moment later, he tried again. “Fine. We have… things in common. And we work together. A lot.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re getting it.”

“How long have we been-”

“Intimate?”

“ _Shit,_ Byleth-”

“Less than a year, but more than six months. Let’s go with nine.”

“Fine.”

“That rhymed.”

“How did you know my father died?”

She didn’t answer for a minute, driving up to the restaurant where Felix had made their dinner reservations and pulling into a parking spot. She killed the engine a moment later, staring at the keys as they dropped into her hands instead of looking at him. 

“Annette told me,” she said, quiet. “Two days after _my_ dad died.”

“...oh.”

“Maybe she thought we could commiserate.”

“Commiserate?” Felix snorted. “What a weird thing to bond over.”

“She was trying to help. I think. Not that anyone could have, really. I was a mess for weeks. She did make me cookies though. They were good.” 

“Was that when-”

“Yes. That’s when I messed up the budget.” She shot him a wry look. “But you caught it before we sent it on to Dimitri. No harm done.”

“I didn’t know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t tell you.”

It seemed a poor excuse.

What else had he missed, he wondered? Something important? 

Something that might explain what he’d never been able to put into words? 

“Come on,” she said, opening her door, not giving him time to brood. “I’m starving.” She stood, throwing her coat over her shoulders, waiting for him to join her. 

He didn’t offer her his arm, or his hand; she took it just the same. “So tell me, Felix - do you like darts?”

“The game? It’s fine, I guess.”

“You any good?”

He shot her a look, sensing the challenge in her voice. “I’m decent.”

She grinned, green eyes shining. “Ten bucks says I beat you by twenty points or more.”

His hands on hers tightened, and he quickened his pace.

“You’re on.”

* * *

“You _lost_?” 

Sylvain’s incredulity was only slightly less annoying than the way his eyes kept flicking between Felix and Byleth - how their arms were linked, how she’d tucked herself into his shoulder, slotting against his side as if there were nowhere else she’d rather be.

“She cheated,” Felix snapped, looking down at Byleth. 

She smiled up at him serenely.

He flushed, still annoyed by what she’d done in the bar - how she’d slunk down low over their table in the bar, showing off that sinful cleavage to her full advantage. How she’d kicked his foot just before he’d thrown the dart, making him miss the target by six inches. 

He’d protested, but then she’d just looked at him with those _eyes_ and taken a long pull from her beer, and every _single_ protest had died, hard and sudden, on Felix’s lips.

Dammit.

“So, uh, this thing.” Sylvain waved a hand between them, the grin on his face stretching wide. “How long has this been going on?”

“About nine months,” Byleth said smoothly. 

Sylvain started down the hallway towards the parlor, and Felix, reluctantly, made to follow.

“Felix didn’t say anything,” he said, brown eyes flicking up to Felix in question. Felix opened his mouth, excuse at the ready, but Byleth beat him to it.

“Ah, that’s probably my fault.” She sounded sheepish, convincingly so. Clearly, she’d had more practice at subterfuge than Felix. “I thought we should keep it quiet.”

Sylvain looked back to Byleth. “You guys do work together a lot, huh?” he said. “Break the news to Seteth yet?”

“We haven’t-” 

“The timing wasn’t-”

They both stopped, turning towards each other, sentences unfinished. 

“You didn’t tell HR that you were dating,” Sylvain said slowly. 

“We’re not dating,” Felix snapped.

“Kinda seems like you are, Felix.”

“But no,” Byleth added. “We haven’t.” 

“We aren’t _scared_ or anything _-_ ”

“We just-”

“-were waiting,” Sylvain interjected, grinning. “For when the time’s right. Yeah, I get it!” He tucked his hands behind his head. “I mean, Annette and Ashe couldn’t so much as be in the same _hallway_ together without one of them literally shitting a brick, but you gotta plan these things out. Wait for when ol’ Setty’s having a good day.”

“ _Setty_?”

Sylvain grimaced. “Fuck.”

_Fuck._

Felix recognized that voice. 

Sure enough, a moment later, Seteth turned a corner, shooting Sylvain a dark look. “Ah, Sylvain. I might’ve known.” He cleared his throat. “As I’ve mentioned before, I rather detest that nickname. I would prefer you not use it in reference to me.”

“Sorry, Seteth,” Sylvain said. “I didn’t - yeah, sorry, man. Won’t happen again. Promise.”

“I’m sure.” 

Maybe he wouldn’t notice them, Felix thought - maybe, all his ire trained on Sylvain, they could slip away unnoticed. He tugged on Byleth’s hand, jerking his head back ever so slightly. She squeezed his arm, and as one, they moved, steps soft and careful as they backed towards the nearest door-

“Ah, Felix, Byleth, I didn’t see you there. Did you only just…” 

Seteth’s voice trailed off, staring at their twined arms and coordinating outfits. He quickly put two and two together, eyes narrowing.

“I take it, congratulations are in order.”

“Seteth-” Byleth began.

“Though I must be clear, foreknowledge of any and all intimate relationships between members of the same team needs to be documented by human resources in order to make sure we as a company are taking the appropriate precautions.”

Felix spluttered. “ _Intimate-”_

Byleth discreetly - and with a surprising amount of force - stomped on his foot.

“I know the both of you are on good terms with your team leaders as well as Dimitri, but the niceties must be observed.”

“We understand,” she said quickly. “And we’re sorry - truly, Seteth. We didn’t mean to keep it from you. It just… sort of happened.”

“ _What_ just sort of happened?”

“Us,” she replied. “Felix and I, dating… everything.” 

He paused, lips pursed. Then-

“I suppose these things… do, occasionally, sneak up on you.” He sniffed. “But that’s no excuse!”

“Aw, c’mon, Seteth, it’s _Christmas-_ ”

Seteth shot Sylvain a withering look.

“Of course not,” Byleth said quickly. “We should’ve said something.”

“Come to my office Monday morning. The both of you. We’ve paperwork to file.” He gave Felix in particular a stern look as he made his way past them, and it was only Byleth’s iron grip on his arm that kept him from snapping back. 

“He looked almost excited there at the end,” Sylvain whispered, ambling over to them and putting a hand on their shoulders. “Sometimes I think he enjoys this.”

Felix shrugged him off, thinking hard.

Seteth finding the two of them hadn’t been part of the plan. Stupid, really - of course he was going to see them. They weren’t exactly hiding, and the company didn’t have _that_ many employees. They should have accounted for this, had a backup plan.

What the fuck did they do on Monday? Tell Seteth they broke up over the weekend? Let him in the joke?

Even he knew neither were very likely to fly. 

He looked down at Byleth, hoping she had some kind of plan (she always had thought more quickly on her feet than him), but she was still staring off in Seteth’s general direction, a frown tugging at her brows. 

Shit.

“Guys?”

Just like that, Byleth relaxed, relinquishing her grip on Felix. “I need a drink,” she said, turning to Sylvain. “Show me the bar?”

“Always happy to escort a lady,” Sylvain said, grinning. He held out his arm, and Byleth took it; together, they set off deeper into the house. Not wanting to be left behind, Felix followed.

Rows and rows of portraits stared down at them as they made their way towards the formal dining room, a thousand years’ worth of Blaiddyd’s hanging on these walls. Felix had always hated looking at them as a child when he’d come to play with Dimitri; none of them looked particularly happy to have been painted. Dimitri’s father, Lambert, looked particularly incensed about something. 

Someone had tried to make the hall look a little less austere by hanging gold and silver tinsel everywhere. It wasn’t quite working.

The dining room was more inviting; the formal table had been taken out of the hall, replaced with several smaller tables bedecked with finger foods and glasses of wine and sparkling cider. The only light came from the hundreds of thick, fat candles decorating each surface, wrapped with ribbons and bits of bark and berry. Cinnamon and clove hung heavy in the bar, and beneath it all was a warm, buttery scent - like freshly baked bread, or pastries fresh out of the oven.

He didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until someone politely excused themselves and stepped around him. He turned, about to mutter the briefest of apologies, but Mercedes - talent division, corporate headhunter, master at fixing any and all printer jams - just smiled and put a hand on his arm.

“Hello, Felix,” she said. She sighed, looking out on the room with a soft smile. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Dimitri really outdid himself this year.”

Felix snorted. “Like he did any of this,” he muttered.

“Oh, he had help,” she replied. “Dedue and I picked out most of the decorations, and I did the baking, but Dimitri had a hand in everything.” She leaned forward. “You should try the eclairs - I made them with pistachios and rosewater, so they shouldn’t be too sweet.”

The first time he’d ever tasted one of Mercedes’ desserts, Felix had nearly gagged. 

Not because it tasted bad - but because he’d eaten nearly an entire meal’s allotment of calories in one tiny pastry. He hadn’t been able to hide the reaction on his face as he’d choked the thing down.

Ever since, Mercedes had remembered to make him something less sweet. It was… kind of her. Thoughtful. More than Felix probably deserved. 

“I’ll try to find one,” he said. 

“They should be easy to spot - the pistachios on top are very green. Oh, but don’t go for the ones with the praline; they’re filled with a chocolate bavarois, and I don’t think you’d like that. Now the ones with the _yellow_ decorations have a passion fruit-”

“How did you find the time to make all this?” 

It had to have been hours of work on her part. Personally, Felix would have submitted an invoice to Dimitri if _he’d_ been asked to do all of this for free. At least for the cost of the ingredients. 

“It isn’t so bad,” she said, gently steering Felix away from the door and towards one of the tables. Annette and Ashe were there, he noticed, both of them blushing furiously. Typical. “The pastry is the same for all three; it’s just the fillings that are different. Besides, I like baking. And nothing you enjoy doing is ever a chore. Hello, Annie,” she added, having come up beside her friend and given her a warm peck on the cheek. 

Annette jumped. “Mercy! And Felix!” She put a hand to her heart, startled. “I didn’t see you there!”

“You two look like you’re having fun.”

Ashe laughed nervously. “We are,” he said. His smile dropped a bit, and he added, “Oh, well, I am at least - I can’t speak for Annette -”

“I’m having fun, too!” she interjected. 

“Really?” She nodded, and Ashe beamed. “Good! I’m glad.”

Felix fought not to gag. 

“Felix, I see you came after all!”

He raised an eyebrow at Annette, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said I was coming.”

“Well, yeah,” Annette said, “but you didn’t seem very enthusiastic. Did you end up bringing someone after all?”

“I-” 

“Wait, do you have a date?” Ashe asked, excited. He leaned forward over the table, nearly knocking over the candle at his elbow. Mercedes caught it just in time, returning it to its spot among the centerpiece with a gentle pat.

“I - yes.”

“ _What?!”_ Annette shrieked.

Felix winced, glaring at the few people who’d turned to look their way. “Keep your voice down,” he snapped. “But yes. I have - I brought someone with me.”

“Is it someone from work?”

He hesitated, and Annette bounced up and down gleefully. “It is!” she crowed. “Oh, it totally is. Can I guess? I bet I can guess who it is!” 

“Is it Marianne?” Ashe asked. 

“Oh, please,” Annette said, waving a hand. “Felix is too mean for Marianne! He’d make her cry!”

Felix grimaced. Probably. He’d done it before.

Inadvertently, for what it was worth.

“It’ll be someone special,” she continued, putting a finger to her lips in thought. “Someone who isn’t afraid to stand up to you, but who you also respect. Someone who can handle all your bullshit! No offense.”

Felix snorted. “None taken.”

“And they’ll be pretty! Because Felix is pretty.”

He _did_ take a little offense at that. 

Annette and Ashe launched into an animated debate then, listing out names and ticking them off on their fingers one by one as they slowly determined who Felix had most certainly _not_ come with. Felix opened his mouth when they brought up Cornelia, the head of the cafeteria, ready to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all, but Mercedes laid a hand on his arm, shaking her head.

“Let them have their fun,” she murmured, barely hiding a giggle of her own. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Felix wasn’t too sure. Ashe’s next suggestion was _Shamir_ of all people, and while Felix didn’t have anything against the woman, he knew for a fact that she was dating Catherine - or at least hooking up with her on a regular basis.

He’d accidentally walked in on them in the supply closet once.

“I always thought you two would be good together, you know.”

Felix blinked, looking down at Mercedes in surprise.

“Who-”

“She’s so much like you, Felix. Strong-willed, confident… stubborn. I don’t think I’ve ever met two more competitive people. She’s a little more analytical than you, though... a bit quieter. You need that, I think. It balances you out.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Byleth, of course.” She paused, looking up at Felix, one eyebrow lifted. “That is who you brought tonight, isn’t it?”

“I-”

“Aha! Byleth!” Annette snapped her fingers. “Of course! You would be the one to guess it, Mercy.” 

Mercedes shrugged. “I know things,” she said.

“How long have you all been dating, Felix?” Ashe asked. 

“Nine months.”

“So long!” Annette said. “How did I miss this? You all never act like you’re together at work!”

“That’s probably the point, Annie.”

“Oh. Right.” She laughed, looking at Ashe. “I’m still new to this.”

The look he sent her was so positively schmoopy Felix almost gagged.

May the Goddess strike him dead if he ever looked at another human being like that.

“Aw, you two are so perfect together!”

“Who’s perfect?”

Byleth had chosen that moment to emerge from the bar, two drinks in her hand. One, a whiskey neat, had lipstick stains on the rim - a dark red berry, identical to the shade Byleth had dabbed onto her lips after dinner. The other cocktail was hardly fancier, though there was a spring of cranberry sticking out of the glass. She handed this one to him, taking a spot on his free side.

“Gin and tonic?” she murmured. 

He frowned; it was his favorite drink, one of the few he could stand. But he’d never told her what he liked. She must’ve seen the question on his face, because she shrugged, lips quirked up at the corners. “Lucky guess.” She turned back to Annette and Ashe, then, repeating her question. 

“You and Felix,” Annette gushed. “You guys are just perfect for one another.”

“Huh.” Byleth put a hand on his arm, leaning into him. “Did you hear that, Felix? We’re perfect together.” 

_See?_ her eyes said. _I told you people would buy it._

He rolled his eyes, hoping she remembered that Ashe and Annette were both hopeless romantics. Of course they’d bought it. 

But Mercedes wasn’t so naive - and she’d been the first to guess his date correctly. 

Strange.

The deluge of questions came then - how had they known they’d liked each other, were they living together yet, did they have any holiday plans. Byleth answered most, her answers simple but good. Felix would toss in an occasional comment, enough to make him appear invested; when he went too long without saying something, Byleth’s heel had a way of digging itself into his foot. 

Sylvain joined them after a while, and the questions turned considerably more inappropriate. Felix spoke up more, at least - if only to tell Sylvain to mind his own damn business.

The redhead finally threw his hands up in the air, admitting defeat. “Alright, alright - but you can’t blame a guy for asking!” He pouted, lower lip wobbling precariously. “My best friend didn’t even tell me he _had_ a girlfriend.”

Ashe laughed. “Well, Sylvain, it’s probably because of stuff like this-”

“ _Ashe!”_

“He isn’t wrong,” Felix snapped.

Sylvain huffed. “You’re lucky I love you so much, Felix. I’m willing to look past this. Not just anyone would do that, you know.”

“Mmm.”

“But hey.” He held up his glass, half full of something obnoxiously pink. “I’m happy for you guys. Really. It’s obvious you care about each other a lot.”

Was it? 

The rest of the table heartily agreed though, so maybe Sylvain wasn’t just saying that.

“A toast!”

They all looked up as Dimitri clambered atop a chair, a glass of champagne in his hand. The other held a stack of note cards, a clear sign that he was preparing to give his annual “go team” speech.

Felix looked down at Byleth, jerking his head to the side. Time to find another room - he’d heard enough of Dimitri’s talks to know that he didn’t need to hear another now. They were all the same, really; the same generic, we-should-all-be-so-proud end of the year address. It would’ve been better if the man had just put it all in an email and forwarded it to them. That way, at least, Felix could just delete it.

Byleth seemed of a similar mind, nodding and motioning for him to lead the way. Together, they wound through the gathering crowd until they reached a door Felix knew led off to a side room. They slipped inside, and he pressed back against the door in relief at having gotten away without incident.

Some dinners, he wasn’t so lucky.

It was quieter in here - cozy. A fire was burning on the hearth, and instead of cheap plastic garlands, strands of pine needles adorned the mantle. A decanter of whiskey and some glasses stood nearby, no doubt pilfered from the bar, and several chairs were already pushed up around the table. Someone else had been hiding out here earlier.

Byleth made to sit, looking back over her shoulder at him. She raised an eyebrow when she saw he hadn’t moved from the door. “Not a fan of holiday pep talks, I take it?” she asked. 

Felix snorted. “Not a fan of _Dimitri_ pep talks,” he said. “Or… pep talks in general.”

“Mmm.” She took a seat, crossing one leg over the other, revealing the dangerously pointy black heels she’d been using to attack him all night. “He does… ham it up a bit.”

He shot her a flat look. “He’s overly dramatic and then he cries.”

“Some people like that in a leader.”

“Do you?”

She shrugged. “I could take it or leave it.” She snaked a foot out, tapping the armchair across from her. “Have a seat. No sense in standing around. He’ll be up there for a while.”

Felix sat. 

She took a sip of her drink, savoring it for a moment before swallowing it down. “So. Enjoying the party?”

“I’ve only been here an hour.”

“Mercedes thinks we’re perfect together.”

“I-”

“Annette and Ashe too. Then at the bar, before he came over to us, Sylvain told me-”

“What,” Felix snapped. “What did Sylvain tell you?”

She paused, watching him for a moment. “He told me to take it easy on you.”

He huffed out the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding. “He’s a fucking idiot-”

“He’s just watching out for you, Felix. Have a heart.”

Felix’s mouth snapped shut, the rest of his sentence dying in his throat, her words cutting straight to the heart of matter. Irritation filled him, and he scowled - but only because he knew she was right. Sylvain _did_ have his best interests at heart, and he had only _ever_ just watched out for Felix, even when Felix hadn’t wanted him to do so. 

He was a good friend. 

Having fallen silent, Byleth swirled her whiskey around in her glass, watching the way it whirled and eddied just below the edge. She waited until it had gone completely still before taking a drink, leaving another berry-colored stain on the rim. 

Felix wondered how she avoided getting it on her teeth or fingers; it seemed like it would get on anything that touched her lips. 

...maybe that was the point.

“I told you they would buy it.”

He looked up from her lips to find her studying him. Her green eyes had gone dark in the firelight, and he found he couldn’t look away.

“Turns out, not a single one of them was even surprised that we came here together.”

“Annette said she hadn’t noticed,” he pointed out.

“Annette’s just excited,” Byleth threw back.

True enough.

“Do you ever wonder if maybe they see something we don’t?”

Felix swallowed. “Something?”

“Yeah. Something.”

He was silent for a long time, considering this - long enough that she said his name again, prompting him to answer.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, looking away. “Maybe.”

Much as it galled him to admit it. Maybe they _had_ seen something he and Byleth had missed out on - the forest for the trees, that kind of thing. Maybe they could put a name to the emotion he currently felt pressing against his ribcage, threatening to spill out if he opened his mouth too wide or moved too close to where she sat.

She nodded, accepting this answer; to his relief, she didn’t press the matter. 

He cleared his throat, desperate to move away to a safer topic. “What do we tell Seteth?” he asked.

She took another drink, a larger one this time, emptying the glass. She reached out for the abandoned bottle, refilling her cup with a deft hand, offering some to Felix. He shook his head, still nursing his first cup, and repeated his question.

“No idea,” she said finally. 

“...you don’t have a plan?”

“Do you?” she shot back.

“No.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“Have you _met_ Seteth?” 

“Oh, no, I don’t think I have.”

“We’ll need more than _something.”_

“Look, our options are limited. We either tell him the truth-”

“No way-”

“-or we make the lie real.”

... _what?_

He must’ve looked as dumbstruck as he felt, for Byleth quickly elaborated. “I mean, what if this _was_ a date? What if we just… kept going?”

“Kept going?” he repeated. “This isn’t a race, Byleth.”

“No,” she said, leaning forward in her chair. “No, it’s not. Races end. There’s a finish line. This is a start, Felix - a beginning. If you want to.”

If he wanted. 

What _did_ he want?

He’d _thought_ he’d wanted to use Byleth as a deflection for the evening, a way to distract people who’d try to bother him. He’d _thought_ he wanted her to drop him off at the end of the night, and have it go back to their usual bickering, the back-and-forth, the intra-departmental rivalry. 

But-

_But._

The bar games. Dinner. Calling her at two in the morning. 

The way she fit against his side, warm and soft, but still solid and- 

Fuck. He didn’t know anymore. And the longer he sat here, thinking about it, thinking about _them,_ thinking about what everyone else saw that they apparently didn’t-

“What do _you_ want?” he asked, looking up at her intently.

“The same thing as you.”

As if he knew what that was. 

Frustrated, he stood, walking over to the fireplace. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” She set her drink aside, coming to join him. “Felix, I-” 

Suddenly, she stopped; just a few feet away from him, her eyes flicked up towards the ceiling, wary.

“What?” he barked. 

Wordlessly, she pointed up - to the sprig of mistletoe someone had seen fit to pin from the rafters. He stared at it, uncomprehending, even as Byleth stepped forward again, a hand gently tugging at his tie. 

“What are you doing?” 

She tilted her chin up, eyelashes impossibly long, lips wine dark. “I’m not an expert,” she said, “but I think that means we’re supposed to kiss.”

“Are we?”

She tilted her head to the side, green hair falling into her even greener eyes - as she had so many times before, in so many meetings.

“I think you want to.”

He swallowed to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.

“Yes.”

It slipped out so quickly - and so easily. No hesitation. But the way she was looking at him, the way her fingers were curling up in the fabric of his jacket, how her lips had parted ever so slightly - he’d never been so certain of anything in his life.

Her eyes flashed. “Then kiss me.”

It wasn’t a question, nor an offer. She never asked him for anything. When she knew what she wanted, she went after it, by any means necessary. 

Another thing they had in common.

It was barely anything to lean down and press his lips to hers - the slightest tilt of his head, her mouth soft against his. But then she arched up to meet him, pushing him back as her mouth eased over his, and heat surged in his veins. 

She wanted this. She wanted _him._

He could feel it every line of her body, pressed against him. He could feel it in the way she nipped at his lips, how she opened up for him when his tongue licked at the seam of her lips-

Who had they been kidding?

It was exhilarating, sheer and unbridled.

It was what it felt like when he thought about Byleth too much - heady and faint and exciting and terrifying, all at once. She was like a magnet, and him the metal drawn into her pull. He didn’t want to stop; now that he’d started, he didn’t think he _could_ stop. 

He stepped closer, one hand coming up to the side of her face, burying itself in the loose strands of her hair. It was soft, softer than he thought possible, silky as the dress she’d worn just to match him. And when he pulled on it, the groan that left her lips -

Fuck.

A hand wrapped around his throat, nails curling into the back of his neck, and Felix swore, vividly. Byleth used the moment to her advantage, pressing up on her tiptoes and taking control, tongue licking into his mouth. She tasted of whiskey and chocolate, smoky and sweet. 

Felix normally wasn’t one for sweet things, but this…

Maybe he could get used to this.

All too soon, she was pulling away, staring up at him, a question in her eyes.

He answered her in the only way he knew how - by kissing her again. And again, and again, until the both of them were breathing hard, dizzy, leaning against the fireplace for support. 

A wolf whistle split the air, loud and sharp. They jumped apart, turning as one to see Sylvain standing in the doorway, a sly grin on his face. 

“Sneaking off during Dimitri’s speech to go make out? You naughty kids.”

“Sylvain-”

The redhead dabbed at his lips. “You, uh, got something on your face, bud. Just there.”

Felix swiped at his face, blushing furiously. “Fuck off,” he muttered.

“Dimitri’s finished, by the way. Dedue had to take him outside.” 

Felix snorted. Typical. 

“You have approximately seven minutes before he comes back inside and starts looking for you.”

Byleth blinked. “That’s weirdly precise.”

Sylvain shrugged. “I’ve learned a thing or two over the years.” 

With a final wink, he backed out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and Byleth and Felix were left alone. He turned, uncertain of what to say now that they’d… now that they’d-

“Hey.” She was at his elbow again, peering up at him. “You okay?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh. You aren’t… having second thoughts?”

“Are you?”

“No,” she replied. A hesitant smile tugged at her lips as she lifted a hand, thumb dabbing at his lips. “You, ah, didn’t get all the lipstick off.”

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling out his phone so that he could check his reflection.

It was worse than he’d thought. There were streaks of red all over his face, and his hair was absolutely wrecked. Byleth had dragged her hands through it once, nails digging at his scalp; he couldn’t say he’d minded at the time, but his artfully styled bun was a total loss. 

No wonder Sylvain had laughed at them.

“I think I have a napkin somewhere,” Byleth muttered, digging around in the little handbag she’d brought with her. “Ah! Here.” She handed him a little square, and he dutifully scrubbed at his face. 

He didn’t think it was helping. 

“This isn’t working,” he huffed, tearing off a bit of napkin that was curling in on itself.

“Sorry about that - red stains.”

“Then why do you wear it?” he demanded.

“Like you minded,” she retorted. “I saw the way you looked at me after I put it on.”

Fair.

“Oh, don’t be grumpy. I like it when you look at me like that.”

He paused in his arduous scrubbing, surprised. “You do?”

She shrugged. “I can’t always tell what you’re thinking - and you sure as hell don’t always say it,” she explained. “But when you look at me like that… I think I get it.” She stepped closer, taking the napkin from him and tossing it in the bin. “I don’t hate you, Felix. And you don’t hate me. Actually, based on current events-”

“Actually?”

“-I think we might even like each other.”

Impossible.

Preposterous. 

He’d spent literally years of his life competing with her. There had been a lot of collaboration, sure - but he’d always wanted to be better than her. She was so talented, her ideas uncanny but wildly successful; if he could best her, he could best anyone. She was his _rival,_ for fuck’s sake, not his friend. 

How could she possibly like him?

“You’re thinking too hard,” she said, grabbing his hand. 

Maybe. He was good at that.

“Is it so awful?” she pressed. “Us, liking each other?”

“...no.”

She smirked at him. “That sounded almost painful. But I’ll take it.”

She pulled away, grabbing for her whiskey as she headed back out into the main room. Her hand was on the doorknob when Felix found his voice.

“Hey.”

She paused, looking back at him.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“For what?”

He shrugged, hating the blush he already felt spreading across his face. “I don’t know. Coffee.”

“Coffee.”

“You like coffee.”

“Like I like my metal,” she agreed.

She wasn’t answering him. Scowling, he pushed off the fireplace, picking up the drink he’d left behind. “It doesn’t have to-”

“I’d like that.”

She held a hand out to him, green eyes merry. An invitation, and an acceptance.

A beginning.

He took it without hesitation.

“Let’s get out of here.”  
  



End file.
